ingbird to it;
unless he could be received in what he calls his diggings' toggery."

"I'd not have gone with him; I don't like him well enough," resentfully
spoke Sibylla; "but as he is not going, he can let me have the loan of
my own carriage--at least, the carriage that was my own. I dislike those
old, hired things."

The words struck on Lionel like a knell. He foresaw trouble. "Sibylla,"
he gravely said, "I have been speaking to Jan. He----"

"Yes, you have!" she vehemently interrupted, her pent-up anger bursting
forth. "You went to him, and sent him here, and told him what to
say--all on purpose to cross me. It is wicked of you to be so jealous of
my having a little pleasure."

"Jealous of--I don't understand you, Sibylla."

"You won't understand me, you mean. Never mind, never mind!"

"Sibylla," he said, bending his head slightly towards her, and speaking
in low, persuasive accents, "I _cannot_ let you go to-morrow night. If I
cared for you less, I might suffer you to risk it. I have given up
going, and----"

"You never meant to go," she interrupted.

"Yes, I did; to please my mother. But that is of no consequence----"

"I tell you, you never meant to go, Lionel Verner!" she passionately
burst forth, her cheeks flaming. "You are stopping at home on purpose to
be with Lucy Tempest--an arranged plan between you and her. Her society
is more to you than any you'd find at Deerham Hall."

Lucy looked up with a start--a sort of shiver--her sweet, brown eyes
open with innocent wonder. Then the full sense of the words appeared to
penetrate to her, and her face grew hot with a glowing, scarlet flush.
She said nothing. She rose quietly, not hurriedly, took up the book she
had put on the table, and quietly left the room.

Lionel's face was glowing, too--glowing with the red blood of
indignation. He bit his lips for calmness, leaving the mark there for
hours. He strove manfully with his angry spirit: it was rising up to
open rebellion. A minute, and the composure of self-control came to him.
He stood before his wife, his arms folded.

"You are my wife," he said. "I am bound to defend, to excuse you so far
as I may; but these insults to Lucy Tempest I cannot excuse. She is the
daughter of my dead father's dearest friend; she is living here under
the protection of my mother, and it is incumbent upon me to put a stop
to these scenes, so far as she is concerned. If I cannot do it in one
way, I must in another."

"Yo